Stickers
by Deer-Pastel
Summary: Alfred and Arthur are childhood friends. Arthur gave a sticker, Alfred wanted him as his. [Actually a practice on my understanding of psychopathic/sociopathic tendencies, obssessive thinking and such. Stalker habits as well but I'll tell ya this; this isn't gonna be a conclusive story.]


Cross posted frm AO3, but with minor editing and sht. So yea.

Alfred was a small and chubby boy with big dreams; dreams that most adults would claim were absolutely impossible and try to urge their children away from such dreams to the best of their ability. Alfred never really liked those grown-ups, they were, as his dad has once said, afraid to reach for the skies; Alfred instantly agreed with his dad, glad to have parents who believed in him to be a superhero, even though they both seemed to not like each other, it was okay.

His big brother Matthew was a bit of a party pooper though, he always rolled his eyes when Alfred even made a slight reference to his 'ridiculous' ambition. The violet-eyed seven year old never failed to mutter a jab at the younger's dreams; telling him that, if such superheroes existed, then why didn't one come to rescue them? Alfred had always been confused when his brother made that statement in the heat of the moment; they didn't need help, did they? They were an okay family, with parents who loved them even though they seemed to play dangerous games with each other downstairs when he and Matthew stayed in their room on the second storey. But it was okay, right? They always made up after these dangerous games like how he and Matthew always did after someone got hurt.

It didn't matter though, Alfred always listened to his parents, especially when they said that, Matthew was a bit of a down and moody person, which was why Matthew was a party pooper.

"Being a superhero means being there for someone when others aren't, and fighting for what's right," His mom had once said when she tucked him in. "So it's like you and dad?" He had asked for clarification.

His mom never responded.

It didn't bother him though.

On one fine day, during playtime at kindergarten, Alfred spotted a group of the same older boys who had claimed the little area as their territory only months prior, huddling together and kicking at something (or someone, considering the context); jeering loudly with nasty, jesting tones, "Aww are you gonna run off to your mummy?" "Always mummy's boy, now aren't you?" "Man, I knew you were a wuss but c'mon, brows!"

No other children even spared a glance, likely afraid to catch their attention and paint a big red target on their backs. Clever, Alfred thought; he was close to being like those children.

Alfred then heard pitiful whimpers, and that was the thing that pushed him to take a step towards the older boys in defiance, instead of falling into the mob mindset. "Hey! Stop kicking people, you bullies! Kicking people isn't nice!" He huffed, puffing out his chest as he mocked the heroic stance he usually saw in comics and the television.

The boys addressed paused in their cruel fun, turning to face the shorter boy only a distance away with dark looks on their faces.

"Well, well, well; if it isn't prince charming trying to save the damsel in distress." Red eyes narrowed in a condescending manner, rude sneer on his pale face. Alfred faltered a bit; this one more often than not manages to make him actually pee in his pants and burden the teachers there.

With the boy's near ashen white hair, sickly pale face and almost pure red eyes, it terrified most children senseless; assuming the boy was a vampire of sorts, despite being perfectly fine in the sunlight.

Alfred intended to correct the older boy, to tell him that, Alfred wasn't a lame prince charming, but an awesome superhero who came to save the day; the red eyes that were pinned on him though were what stopped him from opening his mouth.

"A-hah!" Startled the four boys out of the stare-off they were engaged in, "I knew you three were up to no good again, and darn right I've the proof and contacted your guardians regarding this matter!" The three visibly recoiled at the statement itself and the loud, sharp voice of the scary math teacher, who stomped towards them with an air of authority.

Scuttled off in haste like mice, the green eyed one and vampire-like one; the blue eyed one though, lingered long enough to send an icy, chilling glare at little Alfred, clearly disliking how the smaller boy stopped their little fun. He then stalked off noisily, leaving an outraged math teacher and two small children in his wake.

Disappointment lilted in her sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, staring after the troublemakers; the tall teacher glanced back at Alfred, quirking him a small smile. "Thank you for helping Arthur over here, Alfred." The little boy felt pride swell in his chest, filling the empty space of esteem; it felt nice, he concluded, enjoying the praise he received.

"Can you do me a favour?" Eager to please and be showered in praises once more, little Alfred nodded. "Do help Arthur up and escort him to the nurse room, so the nice nurse can help Arthur with his ouchies."

"Okay!" Was the enthusiastic response she received. Relieved, the teacher headed indoors, bracing for the worst.

Alfred beamed, baby blue eyes glittering in the afternoon light as he directs his gaze at the boy who needed saving, only to falter slightly at the pitiful sight.

The boy, seemingly only slightly older than he, had blonde hair of a shade Alfred couldn't place, what with the dirt on his hair. His skin, Alfred could tell even underneath the purpling bruises, were unblemished, a healthy shade of peach he guessed, and what grown-ups would call perfectly unscarred. Bushy eye brows were knitted together to express extreme discomfort, stunning forest green eyes reflecting pain Alfred had seen his mother express once before, fat tears still rolling down his chubby cheeks and snot down his nose.

The pitiful creature tried to wipe his snot and tears with his sleeves after noticing his audience; proving quite fruitless even after a few tries and just gave up, clutching his bunny bag close to his chest in a fatal position.

Alfred, ever the social butterfly, stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do in such a situation. He tried to recall any instances where such a situation occured in his family, and couldn't bring himself to conclude how to console someone. Matthew had never turned to him for help and instead went for their mom when he was crying, and he's only seen his mom cry once, but even then she managed to compose herself quickly after noticing her son.

His dad...

His dad never cried, now that he noticed.

Now, Alfred has cried before and his mother had come to console him, but she used biscuits and he really didn't have any on him at the moment.

Alfred then turned to recalling any lines that superheroes said after saving the day, but could only recall, "Never fear, the superhero is here!"

Arthur (if Alfred recalled correctly) stared unblinkingly at Alfred, confusion marring the dirty features. He sniffled, trying once more to wipe his tears and snot away, managed only by a bit but was satisfied. "Superhero...?" He seemed sceptical.

Nodding as to clarify that yes, he was a superhero, Arthur worried whether the boy might get a whiplash considering how quickly the boy nodded his head. "Yeah, a superhero!" He exclaimed once more, starting Arthur, "And I just saved the day!"

Blinking for a little while, Arthur finally recalled manners and shyly thanked the (obviously) younger boy, "Thank you, I suppose," he flushed red as he shakily reached into his bunny bag, "for...'saving' me from those gits." Arthur pulled out his stubby little hand that was clenched tight.

Silence ensued, courtesy of the ever social butterfly Alfred and flustered Arthur; they've gained quite an audience, what with the absence of the kindergarten nightmares. Alfred started getting fidgety, uncomfortable under the judgemental gazes of his peers and the silence of the person he saved, and began to inch away when Arthur (he still wasn't fully sure if that was the boy's name or not) thrust an open hand at him with the suddenness of lightning.

"H-here, a thank you gift, of sorts."

It was a sticker.

A sticker of a cute green bunny with little wings, flapping behind it.

Alfred paused; he never expected something like this from a rough looking boy (except for, perhaps his bunny bag but that was a whole different story), but he supposed it wasn't bad. It was cute, he supposed.

He didn't have a particular fondness for cute things though.

The hand that held the sticker started to tremble, be it because it started aching or something else Alfred never figured it out; but before Arthur could pull back, Alfred snatched it and exclaimed, "This is cool!" Despite his displeasure, mom always said to be nice.

Gasping, Arthur's eyes shined magnificently, as though his life wish has been fulfilled.

Perhaps it has, Alfred wouldn't know, because he never bothered.

"Thank you for being kind,"

This Arthur boy's praises sounded nice, genuine and filled his need for validation. This pitiful creature managed to make him feel needed and it felt nice to feel needed. Perhaps, being nice wasn't too bad, if it meant hanging on to this Arthur boy and being sung praises to the highest of heavens and being looked at with such eyes.

He was never letting go.

Three years of being friends with Arthur (he finally received a clarification after leading the boy into that nurse room) lead to Alfred gaining the knowledge that they were neighbours, and Arthur had only moved recently at the time, making him the odd one. Alfred was filled with elation at the prospect, glad he needn't to fall back into the usual dull praises by three parties.

What made the prospect even better was that, he was sung ten folds the praises he'd gain before, what with his parents realising that he and Arthur were friends and decided to let them have 'playdates' together; allowing more time for him to be sung praises by Arthur.

Today, in particular, was a day that they had their playdate at Alfred's quaint house; where currently, Alfred was fretting about some news his mother had brought for him only recently to Arthur, who was trying his hardest to read the book in his little hands.

"Artie!" Whined Alfred once more, dragging the name long enough to make it as annoying as possible, just to gain his friend's attention—he wanted attention! Arthur, with the reluctance of a man to face today's economy, rolled over from his place on the bed, allowing Alfred to clamber on and stare at him like a kicked puppy.

Escaping Arthur's lips was a sigh, heavy with annoyance before he caved in, "What?" He prompted, already reciting the little tangent in his head, marking the page he was on before shutting his precious book.

Baby blue eyes expressed extreme distress, brows knitted together as worry took over the boy's baby face. "I'm gonna have to wear glasses!" He started, voice cracking due to heavy emotions; "I won't look nice and I'll be a nerd like in those tv shows!" The terror in his voice was to the point Arthur worries how misplaced such terror was, recalling that one time the boy had gotten in trouble with a teacher but still held the most impassive of faces, "Superheroes aren't nerds! They're cool!" Alfred put extra emphasis on the point, hoping that, Arthur would realise where he was coming from; he didn't need people looking down on him because he had to wear glasses!

Arthur for once thanked god for his brothers' obssession with Superman that enabled him to be knowledgable on several things related to him; and Arthur, being the clever boy he was, utilised that knowledge "...Superman wears glasses,"

It was like a flick of a switch; Alfred instantly stopped fidgeting and messing with the duvet, staring at Arthur with the widest, bluest eyes that were full of realisation that woah, Artie's right; Superman does wear glasses. Confidence restored, just when Arthur was growing concerned of the silence and stillness of Alfred, he snapped up and performed a stunt that left both Mrs. Jones and Arthur extremely disgruntled, muttering curses underneath their breaths.

He jumped, on the bed.

With Arthur on it.

Time flew by quite fast for the two and yet they were still by each other's side, clinging tightly even through the worst. The worst being Alfred and Matthew's parents' divorce; in where, just by sheer luck, Alfred landed under his mother's custody, where she got to keep the house they currently lived in. Matthew, before he moved away with their dad to Canada, had asked Alfred, with a pained and scorned look on his face, "Where's our superhero now?" Alfred had never answered. Matthew had scoffed, and expressed his extreme dislike for him as a farewell.

Or a good riddance.

Alfred never bothered.

Arthur was there for him, though, when his mom wasn't. That period of time, she wouldn't even be in the house, leaving him under the Kirkland's care; which concerned the two adults of the household. Alfred didn't bother though, because they at least were a source of praises, considering the absence of his initial praise providers.

Alfred grew to like being in the Kirkland household, especially considering assurances and filled up esteem he'd have because of them. He liked the prospect of being in the constant presence of a concerned Arthur, who gave him all the attention, validation and fulfilment of his extreme needs everyday. It was a haven of sorts for him, getting into his head and twisting into the weirdest of angles to satisfy him. He'd hear whispers of the adults, but he never bothered, because he had what he needed, no? Everything that he could ever want, right at his fingertips. He didn't need to rely on his mom anymore, she can go around with any stranger she'd like, she can be a free bird and he wouldn't care.

This sort of arrangement dragged on until they reached Alfred's last year of middle school, where Alfred was a bit more independant and was able to do his own thing in his house without his mom, albeit dropped by frequently as means to seek for validation. He received plenty of compliments and such at school, but those were never the same as Arthur's; with his genuine care and his underlying need for a companion, who happened to be Alfred. He still liked the feeling of being needed, that he was what changed Arthur's life for the better. It was nice.

"Hi Alfie, your mom not home again?" "No," was the usual greeting they'd use when Alfred stood in front of the gate. Alfred would always pull a dejected look whenever he replied with negative, even though he truly didn't care anymore. He made the discovery that, people become more soft when he looked sad, especially Arthur, so he grew into the habit of doing so; acting as though he truly cared for his mom when he really didn't.

Over the years, Alfred had grown a bubbling resentment for his mom, and decided that he didn't need her praises anymore because even on the blue moon when she'd be home, she'd give empty praises that Alfred knew weren't meant. He didn't like the change but decided the matter was too fickle to bother with.

The gate swung open, allowing access to the house that looked more lived in than his own. Arthur had his usual disconcerted look on his face, with his chapped lips pursed and thick brows furrowed. "Don't you think this has been going on for too long? It's been two years already and she still hasn't changed, Alfie."

Alfred paused. This was new, he mused; usually Arthur would give some reassurance and he'd lock the gate before they both headed inside, not start questioning things. "Nah, I'm fine, Artie." Alfred gave his 100-watt smile that worked just fine even with the braces he got recently, which also dated the most recent time he's seen his mom before she went off with another stranger.

Arthur, with his freckled cheeks that were visible in the afternoon light, grimaced as he closed and locked the gate. "But Alfie... I've overheard my parents talking about contacting child services regarding your situation," "Child services?" Alfred's head snapped towards Arthur, probing thoughts that uncannily resembled the ones he had when he first met Alfred. Arthur recoiled slightly at the wild look on the troubled boy's face, and took a subconscious step back, fearing the worst.

Mood swings weren't an uncommon occurrence with Alfred lately, be it because of hormones or something else, nobody knew. But Arthur knew first hand just how intimidating he can be when his mood takes a sharp turn to south. Arthur shuddered.

"Either that, or your dad," Arthur winced; he knew Alfred didn't particularly like his dad. The man hasn't contacted Alfred nor his mom once since the big fiasco two years ago, leaving Alfred extremely bitter for leaving him to deal with his hectic mom alone.

Face muscles tightened, Alfred snapped, "I don't need child services to interfere nor do I need my dad." He spat with searing venom that chilled Arthur to his bones, causing another wave of shivers to course through his skin. His nerves were worn, his patience was tried and Alfred did not want to deal with another court case again.

Nor did he want to see his coward of a dad.

Terror was reflected in those forest green eyes Alfred admired very much and instantly, Alfred re-composed himself; he couldn't just scare off the one person who needed him the most, did he? Laxing his muscles and slouching slightly to seem as meek as possible, Alfred carefully chose his words, "I just... I just like being here, y'know?" Arthur visibly loosened at the change of mood, "I like how things are—except for my mom part but," he pulled a smile that should be enough to disarm Arthur of any defences; and it did, he could tell. "But I really like the part where I get to see you everyday."

Red tinted his freckled cheeks, sputtering incoherently at such a confession. "I-I, uh. W-well, either way...y-you'll be stuck i-in my p-p-presence anyway!" He tried to steel himself, failing miserably seeing as he was a sputtering mess, with Alfred looking on in amusement "So hah! J-jokes on you!" Then Arthur did the most unpredictable thing.

He stuck out his tongue.

Like a child.

Alfred snorted, suddenly enveloping Arthur in a hug that only served to fluster the already flustered boy more as chuckles were breathed at his neck, tickling him. "You're so funny Artie, it's adorable!"

Alfred made a discovery that day. Arthur was quite slim and despite his rough exterior, very soft to touch. Like a hedgehog, he thought, probing another chuckle.

Arthur was his.

High school was quick to roll into Alfred and Arthur's lives, with Arthur as a second year to fill Alfred the first year on several things about high school. Alfred, with his charm that Arthur had known, won over the whole school as the 'Charming Freshman'. Arthur, being a member of the student council, was able to overhear even the president of the student council speak highly of the first year, and even mused how he would've made a great student council member, if only he hadn't joined the football (the American one) team and earned himself a spot in the school team, even. For a moment, jealousy churned in his stomach; negative feelings towards his childhood friend were admitted, before he caught himself, and felt the burdening weight of guilt. It wasn't Alfred's intention to even be considered by the student council anyway.

Arthur strengthened his resolve, and worked hard to rise up the ranks, to be looked at not as just another member, but a diamond in the rough. In the process, he started putting his friendship with Alfred at the bottom of his list of priorities; he didn't mean to of course, because Alfred was extremely dear to him, but there were some things he had to do for the future. It wasn't like he ignored Alfred or anything, he still messaged him, talked to him in the hallways, sat with him and sometimes walked home with him.

Despite how much Arthur tried, though, Alfred still wouldn't understand.

Turning his locker combination, Arthur sighed silently when Alfred leaned against the locker next to his. "Yes?" He didn't spare him a glance. This situation (albeit the locations may vary) has been happening so frequently to the point that it's pushing Arthur over the edge, close to falling over and he did not want that; for his and Alfred's sakes.

"Are you running away?" Patience, Arthur. Patience. He sucked in a deep breath, calming his nerves before answering casually, shoving the unnecessary items into his locker, "For the umpteenth time Alfie, I'm not." Arthur tensed when he realised his annoyance slipped through; he didn't want to accidentally trigger Alfred's mood swing, not there, in the hallway; where everyone could see them.

It was silent, between them; the chatter of the students passing by being nothing but white noise in their perception. Arthur, still tense, braved a glance at his younger friend, and was hit with a cold wave of guilt. Alfred's face was void of any anger or outrage he had been expecting (he felt bad for assuming his friend would snap at him, seemed like he didn't trust him) but instead in place was a dejected look; slouching shoulders, downturned lips and baby blue eyes that gazed pitifully down at his converse. Hesitant, thinking over what he should say, Arthur bit his bottom lip, shut his locker and turned to face Alfred who still didn't meet his gaze.

Silence again, only it felt much, much heavier; crushing. Arthur felt like he wanted to cry right there and then under all the pressure; his work, his ambition, and now even his friendship! It's all falling apart and Arthur didn't know what to do, everything was moving so fast; he was a second year already and in another two years he'd graduate and then where would he go? Then his friend, Alfred; he had so much problems but he didn't want to let the professionals handle it! It was frustrating, but Arthur supposed he could understand where he came from.

His breath hitched, his throat clenched, everything felt so heavy and no no no not here, not now, please no, but it was too late for Arthur, because his tears that were painfully pricking at his eyes finally trailed down, broken resolve and all. Arthur, desperate to not let even Alfred see him cry, readied to dash for the nearest toilet with his face in his hands when he was suddenly pulled into a hug; his face in the fabric of a letterman jacket, his back held tight by comforting arms. Arthur gripped tightly onto Alfred's jacket, not caring if people were staring anymore and whimpered like a harmed dog, "I-I'm s-so so-sorry...!"

Alfred didn't offer a word, but Arthur didn't mind.

At least he won't have to kiss goodbye to his precious friendship.

It was only the second year of high school for Alfred, yet he had made the conclusion that, high school by itself isn't necessarily bad, per se. What made high school severely disliked was more of the people and the mindset there. It was stupid that there were people out there that blamed the system when really, it's the people's mindset's doing, fleshing out the idea and planting the seed; that had grown over the generation and slowly became more and more toxic.

Besides the stupid mindset that existed to stupidify individuals, Alfred would say his experience was quite dull. Nothing too interesting ever happens, really; the only reason high school seemed so incredibly jarring was because of the ridiculous teenage drama and hormones being played. Alfred would although admit, there were a few things that he witnessed and experienced which kept him from up and dropping out.

There were also a few from that that rubbed him the wrong way, and he found that, things like those just happen. But just because things happen doesn't mean he'd be okay with it.

After he and Arthur had decided on a weekly schedule that would keep Arthur balanced on his school work alongside his constant devotion to the student council and his friendship with Alfred, and Alfred kept happy with the constant fulfilment of his growing into alarmingly narcissistic needs by Arthur, suddenly Arthur was introduced to the fickle thing called love. Love was a concept that, Alfred never particularly had the chance to be familiar with, only knowledge on it being, if someone loved you, it was a praise of sorts; always said by his parents to he and Matthew when they were little, he'd hear Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland saying "I love you"s to each other and their children (even though they were already past their childhood), and Alfred heard his peers say it to each other and the occasional confessions he'd receive by various students beforehand.

When Alfred saw what love did to Arthur, Alfred didn't particularly like it.

On the outings they'd have every Saturday, Arthur would sometimes have his head in the clouds, leaving Alfred behind on the ground; he'd stare off at the most random but specific of things, like a tulip at the flower store just across that he didn't want when Alfred asked, an ash pan filled to the brim with cigarettes on the table next to theirs, waffles on the menu that once more, he didn't want when Alfred asked and the like.

It wasn't until Alfred poked his nose in did Arthur come clean.

Alfred still couldn't decide whether he'd rather he didn't or not.

"Alfie," Arthur still looked distracted, head in the clouds once more, soaring high and above and really, Alfred was still at a loss as to what he was to do to bring him back; he wanted him back and he'd be caught dead before he let go of Arthur. "this is probably something that I've never shared with you and might be a shock, but," Arthur worried his bottom lip; Alfred had already learnt that Arthur had grown such a habit roughly around the same time as the staring off habit.

"I love Timothy."

Timothy Von Bock. Has a majority of his classes with Arthur as far as Alfred was concerned and despite the rumours (that were ridiculous, Alfred would comment) that he was a pothead, he proved to be more of a cigarette smoker than a chain smoker; if Alfred spotting him with a packet of cigarettes in his locker were any sort of give aways. From Netherlands (or Holland, whatever you want to call that European country that's neighbours with Belgium), Alfred could tell due to his obvious patriotism with the Netherlands stickers littered in his locker and his Netherlands flag inspired scarf he was so fond of. Alfred wouldn't be afraid to compare the boy's hair style to a tulip, honestly; and that scar on his right brow? Probably from a scuffle, Alfred wouldn't know because initially, he never really cared.

But right then, when he stood there in front of a flustered and possibly love-struck Arthur with a straw in his mouth that was gaped at the revelation that his Arthur was slowly falling out of his grasp for another made his blood boil and he cared.

By that time, it was already late January, nearing February and since Arthur had let the cat out of the bag, he entertained it with Alfred; going on tangents about Timothy and acting like those girls near the lockers when he passes by. Alfred would feel frustration bubble up at the surface when Arthur looked so damn happy with that cute (cute?) smile on his face and light blush on his cheeks. It seemed like he truly didn't need Alfred to be happy and he was afraid of that. He was angry about that.

Alfred had learnt though, that Arthur was an extremely sympathetic person at heart even though he acts as though he doesn't give a single damn about life. He was also fairly sensitive, as Alfred had gauged out from that one time he managed to reinforce his feeling of being very important to Arthur through pushing him over and dragging him through the dirt. Because Alfred once again will admit that, Arthur's attention and validation made him feel euphoria unlike the dozens and dozens of compliments and praises he received that only managed to mildly satisfy his needs.

He knew Arthur best, which meant he knew which buttons to press for the desired outcome.

Alfred was a patient boy, but even then it's all because Arthur was still willing to give him the attention he craved during his time day dreaming. Alfred mused that, Arthur was a great multi tasker in that sense. He supposed that he'd let him fly off for a little only to coax him back, to reinforce the idea that Alfred was the one Arthur truly needed, no one else. Considering how that was his trail of thought, Alfred considered him quite the nice boy; allowing Arthur to mingle with someone else even for a while. Besides, he needed Arthur to realise how little Timothy can give compared to him.

February rolled around, and Arthur, being the secret romanticist he's always been, had prattled on to Alfred about his confession plans that Valentines and Alfred could only bite his tongue and bid his time as Arthur continued on about his particularly detailed plans. The effort that Arthur put into the planning started to disconcert Alfred, particularly considering how little time Arthur had to spare to give Alfred the validation he requires lately; on Saturdays that lead to Valentines, Arthur would set the outings at Malls where he'd window shop for items he'd like to get as a Valentines gift for Timothy.

Alfred was, frankly, quite irked that almost everything Arthur did had a touch of Timothy to it. On one instance, Arthur had contemplated aloud to Alfred as to whether he should just embroider something for Timothy, on the verge of giving up on searching for the perfect gift.

Alfred's brooding thoughts had screeched to a halt and he had instantly shot down the idea, right at the head and reasoned that, Arthur shouldn't put that much effort when it wasn't even known if Timothy even liked needlework. Arthur had hummed and agreed, calming Alfred's tense, hyperactive nerves.

He'd allow Arthur to stretch his wings, but he didn't want Arthur to gift such a significant part of his personality to Timothy on Valentines; it was too intimate, and Arthur's embroidery had surprisingly, grown on Alfred, since the older had gone with the habit of embroidering some design for Alfred every Valentines without fail. It was something special, something Alfred could use as means to reinforce the idea of how much Arthur really cared about him.

The day dreaming had become an occurrence that, Alfred noticed, actually disrupted Arthur's work; that of course, wasn't what bothered him, what truly concerned Alfred was how Arthur didn't even pay attention to him on the growing into scarce times they'd manage to see each other. It was trying his patience, grating at his remaining and growing thin nerves but like Alfred had proclaimed before, he was a patient boy; he can allow Arthur some time to fool around.

Alfred, despite not being a particular fan of the matters of the heart because of how much effort it took to keep track of such fickle matters, was still fully aware there was a chance Timothy would not reciprocate. Now, typically it wouldn't be a problem for Alfred, if anything it would be seen as a gift of sorts for being extremely and undoubtedly patient with Arthur's recent behaviour. But he, being one who had studied Arthur for so long, could already guess that Arthur would then be too busy being in his lows to pay any heed to him. Alfred couldn't fathom such a thing and dreaded it; he didn't have anymore patience to spare if such an occurrence were to happen and had to put at least a seed of doubt in Arthur before things got a little too far.

They were at a quaint bakery then, with Alfred's prompting of course, looking over the freshly baked pastries and Arthur seemed to particularly have an eye for those scones in the corner. The homely scent of the bakery filled the occupants' noses and Alfred smacked his lips for a little, ready to bring up a conversation with Arthur.

"Hey Artie?" "Yes, Alfie?" Arthur glanced up from where he was, holding a tray of pastries in one hand and a tong in the other. "I'm damn proud about you having the confidence and all," a heavy brow was furrowed at that "but aren't you, y'know, a little sceptical about whether he'd reciprocate?" Alfred winced in his head, that didn't sound like a particular set of clever choice of words. That was too blunt, Alfred, he's sensitive; remember that. He did, although, twtich his facial muscles to express concern, hoping that Arthur wouldn't take any offence and accept it as an innocent question from a concerned friend. Arthur didn't respond for a moment or two, just staring at Alfred as he processed the meaning. "I'm sorry," he mumbled when a fellow customer wanted to reach for the croissants behind him and moved closer to where Alfred stood near the entrance.

"Well," he started, urging Alfred to tag along with a jerk of his head and headed for the queue. "I do have doubts Alfie, and I'm scared of rejection." Arthur admitted, settling his eyes on Alfred's baby blues. "My mumsy though, after I told her of this, told me that I should let loose and indulge; enjoy how first love feels. She'd be there if things went wrong, and I believe her," he smiled.

That smile was nice, Alfred thought, committing the smile into memory. He then came to the conclusion that, perhaps there was another side to that situation, if Arthur was to be rejected; Alfred could be there for Arthur, and Arthur would rely on him, he'd be needed and that was all that mattered to him even when he was asked by Arthur to hold the plastic full of pastries before heading off to window shop more.

Valentines Day was a quick event that went like how Alfred expected; Arthur was giddy, excited, absolutely love-struck with his dreamy eyes before the bell that signalled school was to begin. He told Alfred that he'd go home a bit later since he had to help the student council and that he'd be busy with the event the student council was holding during lunch. Alfred was slightly dejected at that fact but shrugged it off when Arthur added they'd text all night if he wanted to, considering how it was Friday.

Throughout the whole day, Alfred's mind orbited around a specific topic, wondering just how Arthur's confession would go; Arthur had left a little sticky note (Alfred was still weirded out how it seemed to be a sort of tradition for their school to have students do that) on Timothy's locker, one that left a simple little request to meet at the courtyard right after classes finished. He wouldn't need to assist the student council until 30 minutes after classes end, giving him the time he needed to let out the thing that had been bothering his mind and emotions for the past few months.

Classes ended and Alfred, who with a reluctant tug, didn't wait for Arthur just as he was requested. He knew how to bid his time, he reassured himself. Arthur would come around eventually and it'd be the usual just them once more.

Alfred was solving a Math problem when his cellphone dinged, interrupting the silence of his room and telling him he had a text message. Fully aware that, only Arthur had his number (Arthur was very silent and never gives Alfred's number away to others, he was extremely grateful of the notion) and would text at such a time, he hastily dropped his work and slouched over his phone that was charging on his bed.

Unlocking his phone after he saw the preview of the message (Alfred quite anticipated more information, because it seemed quite interesting), he smiled fleetingly as he caught a glance of his home background when he tapped the messenger app.

Alfie, I never knew it was going to be this painful.

Alfred felt pure ecstasy as his smile widened, reading the whole passage Arthur sent; revelling in victory. Luck truly adored him, falling for his wit and charms.

Alfred was patient.

Since the rejection, as Alfred's deduction had predicted, Arthur was absolutely reliant on him; hanging off of every single word Alfred had to say when they sit together, anything to drown out his disappointment and shock at the rejection, actually clinging to Alfred any chance he'd get, his hand gripping Alfred's shirt as though it were his lifeline, and Saturdays' plans were changed from outings into Alfred staying over at Arthur's. It fueled Alfred's starving for validation being. He'd coaxed Arthur back, and he could only hope he wouldn't try something like that again.

He didn't particularly worry though, because Arthur seemed like an absolute wreck and surely, he wouldn't be stupid enough to do that to himself again.

Alfred revelled in the constant validation by Arthur, who, just by having Alfred as the first person he'd go to for comfort, had unknowingly satisfied Alfred's narcissistic needs. He enjoyed that period of time, in where Arthur would always be looking at him when he needed someone. That period of time only lasted until around May, where another blonde (who Alfred recalled very well as the exact same French boy who was one of the kindergarten bullies) suddenly took his seat next to Arthur, at their table—their own little sanctuary.

"Francis?" Arthur's green eyes left Alfred, and for a fleeting moment a growl almost slipped out; but he reeled in, re-composing himself and keeping a level head as Francis smiled a charming one, meant to disarm but only proved to make Alfred more defensive. Is he trying something? His muscles tensed slightly, his pose rigid and stiff as he carefully studied the French boy's (Francis, Arthur had referred to him as) movements. As far as Alfred could pick up, Francis seemed to be a rather flippant and laid-back individual; expressive, Alfred added as an afterthought when he saw Francis use his hands to speak more than his mouth. "I just wanted to drop by to see my little bunny, is it wrong?" Alfred inwardly bristled and a small, but obviously threatening, growl slipped out. He caught himself, and worried whether the two across of him had noticed.

Thankfully, but also frustratingly, they didn't; too immersed in their conversation (or bantering?) to notice the slip up. The two across of him were throwing words at each other, back and forth and despite the presence of scathing words, Arthur didn't seem at all fazed by it, but instead looked amused and energetic by the notion. Alfred's fists clenched and unclenched underneath the table, only barely keeping in the frustration bubbling at the surface of his skin.

"All the bantering aside, what are you really doing here? You don't really spare your time for me that much," Arthur reached for another biscuit packaging in his bag, tearing it open before stuffing his mouth with a biscuit. Francis took a moment to scrunch his nose at the messy way of eating, "Well, I'll have you know that it turns out my maman would like to go to Sunday mass and go visit my mémère right after, rendering me unfree for the whole day,"

Arthur took a moment or two to swallow down the biscuit, and wiped off the crumbs off of himself, "So... Saturday?" Alfred's head snapped towards Arthur, feeling dread fuel his very being; What the hell is Arthur doing with Francis? And why the hell is it so important to the point he'd have it on Saturday, the day we get to be together? Alfred silently fumed, close to snapping, he almost saw red as all the possibilities began fuelling his mind, making his frustration pulse wildly.

"...Alfie?"

"E-eh, you were saying?" Alfred stumbled over himself as he pointedly ignored the cursed being beside Arthur, staring at those green eyes as he took in every detail and reveled in Arthur's attention.

Lips downturned into a concerned frown, Arthur fiddled with the biscuit packaging (that still had a remainder content), spared a glance or two at Francis, then carefully worded, "Francis and I have this project for socials that we're supposed to hand in by next Monday, and we're both only truly free on Saturdays and Sundays, but since he has a packed schedule on Sunday," Arthur gave a pointed, fleeting glare at Francis, who ignored the action; far too busy with his nails, "we'll have to move it forward to Saturday." Arthur turned to Alfred, a genuine, guilty and apolegetic look on his face.

"Unfortunately, the project will likely take the whole day, so I won't be able to spend time with you," Alfred pulled a dejected look, in response Arthur quickly followed up with "b-but I'll be free on Sunday! We could go out if you'd like," He fidgeted, hoping he'd save Alfred's feelings and he didn't push him too far by making such a decision.

The younger boy forced a convincing smile, "Okay then! I'm holding on ya for this though, Artie!" Arthur visibly loosened; no more tense bones as Alfred said this. Truthfully, his hate for Francis started growing bigger and bigger, spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes, twitching underneath the table as the bell rang, signifying the end of lunchtime. Arthur flashed a smile before leaving with Francis by his side.

I guess I've noticed he doesn't need me to walk him to his classes lately. Alfred stood up, lost in thoughts. All the things that Francis would probably do to Arthur on Saturday buzzing in his head, all the chatter that slowly faded away were just white noise to him as he dreaded losing his grasp on his Arthur. Arthur wouldn't need me anymore, what then? He let go a sharp breath, No, no no no no. His head hurt, thinking, always thinking, always trying to make sure Arthur would never leave his side. Ever.

I'm not letting him go. Ever. Ever. Never ever. His thoughts were jumbled but they all traced back to the green eyed brit he keeps under his thumb.

"Jones?"

Alfred snapped his attention to the only other person in the cafeteria other than he; Mr. Aldrich, his football coach who with his stoic face, managed to profess his concern.

He blinked, "Yeah, coach?"

"Are you okay? You've been staring at nothing and I've been trying to gain your attention for the last minute." Aldrich paused, "Do you need to see the counsellor?" "No!" Alfred reeled back in after the outburst, seeing the mildly shocked look on his coach's face, "I just...haven't been sleeping well," Alfred winced, degrading himself in how that was the most unprogressive lie. Mr Aldrich would still question why he lacked sleep; Alfred crossed his fingers on this matter.

Aldrich only frowned a bit more, before saying, "Well, if anything, you should see the counsellor, okay Jones?" He seemed genuinely concerned.

"Yes, sir."

It was Saturday, the day that he should be at Arthur's; talking to him, having his undivided attention and feel needed, in that nice, little household of his. But instead on that Saturday, he was in his own house; the dreary atmosphere, lack of praises and attention. Of course, he has his own social media and a good following on all social media he owns, praises and compliments given to him on a silver platter every passing minute. None of them was able to give him the satisfaction that Arthur's mere attention does, though. He had an odd determination to keep Arthur as his, to keep his pretty green eyes on Alfred, unwavering, never leaving his sight. Arthur does, after all, owe him after all the times he's assisted him. It's only a matter of compensating and fairness is all.

Alfred was in his room, grumbling about his science reports that were due the next week as his legs fidgeted. He reached for his phone, too bothered by the silence and wanting to just play something when he heard the front door swinging open before being unceremoniously shut; footsteps that were uncoordinated reached his ears and Alfred's mouth pulled down as he furrowed his eyebrows, I wouldn't be seeing mom had it not been for Francis, his grip on his phone tightened, the surge of hate he bottled up hit him like a wave once more as he shoved his phone into his pocket.

He stubbornly ignored his mom who was now standing by the door frame, reeking of whatever drugs she decided to take. I want Arthur, the pencil he had in his hand risked snapping in half when his mom walked in, silently. He retched quitely at the smell his mom reeked, pursing his lips to avoid engaging in conversation with his mom.

"Mommy missed you, sweetie," her voice rasped, by his side. He could only imagine her red, puffy eyes, cracked lips and almost skeletal figure; the shape of her bones jutting out awkwardly as though they didn't fit the skin it was wrapped in, hovering by him, a ghastly and sore presence Alfred had grown to despise.

It was silent other than the scratching of pencil on paper and the recurring clicking of his calculator. You don't need me, Alfred bitterly thought. Arthur does, but Francis is starting to get in the way. The scratching was more furious, sharper as Alfred tried his best to keep his frustration inside.

"I love you, Alfie, remember that-" "You're shitting me, right?" Alfred jerked away from the hand on his shoulder, shooting up on his feet and pulling himself away from his mom.

She had such a hurt look on her ugly, skeletal face Alfred just snapped, "What the hell gives you the fucking right to say that?!" his calculator, stationary and books were on the floor, probing a sharp flinch from his mom.

"Alfie-" "Don't call me that with that look on your face!" he snapped, his voice rising in volume. He was worn; his patience tried one too many times and he was finally pushed over the edge by his hopeless, pitiful mom.

Of all the creatures.

"You were barely around!" his voice bounced off the walls, ringing in his ears. "You never gave a fucking damn about me and never pay attention to me anymore!" His mom flinched, as though shot; a grimace marring her already ugly features. Alfred felt a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction at seeing his mom's pained face, deeming his actions justified as he continued; he wasn't done yet, "Dad's out of the picture, then you should be here for me! Where were you during the past parent-teacher meetings, huh? Oh yeah, you were getting fucked senseless by fucking strangers!" he screamed, his throat scratchy, heart hammering loudly in his ears, breath laboured.

His mom's fragile figure trembled and she started off, lost in thoughts even after Alfred roughly brushed past her with a destination set, despite a small whisper of reluctance in the back of his mind.

When Alfred slammed the gate behind him, he never took notice of the droplets down his glasses, nor the cold seeping into his golden hair, skin and clothes. He stormed across the road, not sparing a glance to check for incoming vehicles as he dug into his jean pocket for the keys entrusted to him. Arriving at the gate of his personal little haven, Alfred listened for any footsteps behind him and unlocked the gate, swinging it open before securing it behind him.

Alfred was quite worn but reluctant as well, considering the presence of a hated creature within his personal haven, in where he opted out of waltzing into the house even with the access, instead settling for ringing the doorbell. It dinged loudly, the rain pelted much harsher by then, and Alfred pulled off his glasses, absently placing it in his jean pocket where the keys were. After a while of soaking in the rain, Alfred considered just going in when the door opened; a scowl escaped for a split second at the person who answered the door.

Francis, in all his snobbish French glory, had his disgustingly golden locks tied in a loose ponytail, an elegant brow quirked up with eyes (that did not remind him of his brother Matthew) pinned on his drowned feline look. "Francis, who is it?" Alfred instantly perked up at Arthur's voice from the hallway behind Francis, who was about to answer when the younger shrugged past him.

Arthur, not expecting his friend (looking like a drowned cat at that) stood still; shivering slightly when the cold seeped into his skin and clothes as he hugged his smaller figure, trembling; be it because of the cold or some emotional baggage he brought along, Arthur never wasted time on pondering about that because the only thing buzzing in his mind was how... fragile Alfred seemed at the moment, as he dragged Alfred to the couch, after asking Francis to lock the front door and grab spare clothes Arthur never came to return to Alfred after sleepovers. Adding in loudly for Francis who was already on the second floor to grab a warm towel as well.

The future of the couch was never something that was contemplated by Arthur as he seated his soaked friend; whatever possessed the younger to wait for the door to be answered even when the rain started getting exponentially harsher was probably some emotional baggage he'd reveal after Francis went off on his merry way. Alfred was cold, that much was evident from his shivering.

"Alfie, do you... do you want some tea?" He said softly, kneeling by his friend's trembling figure. He waited, yet there was no response. "Coffee's out of the question, sorry. My pa downed it all yesterday," Arthur wasn't good at cracking jokes, especially to cheer someone up; and he knew it. He was fully aware but this was his childhood friend, he'd do anything to drag him out of the hole he'd retreated in.

It was silent, other than the pitter patters of the rain outside and shuffling upstairs. Arthur was about to give up when Alfred quietly said, "Tea's fine." Arthur's face softened, exhaling through his nose in relief.

A weight has been lifted off his chest.

Arthur stood up, ready to head for the kitchen when Francis came strutting towards him with a towel and garments for Alfred. "Can you dry him up? If he's not able to, that is." Francis sent him a questioning look, and Arthur sighed. "This isn't something I can spill willy-nilly, Francis." He said lowly, pulled Francis a bit ways away from Alfred so he wouldn't hear.

"Oh."

Francis was then left alone with a still shivering Alfred, sitting on the couch with his head down, wet hair covering his face like a veil. He placed down the towel and clothes in his hands, mulling over this curious situation; hovering by Alfred, expecting him to take the towel for himself.

After a few painfully awkward minutes that crawled by slowly, Francis considered continuing the work where he and Arthur left off but then relented at the little voice in his head that reminded him Arthur had specifically requested him to assist the younger boy in cleaning himself up if he made no indication of doing so himself.

Resigned to his fate of having to play caretaker to an odd one, Francis made to grab the towel and dry off the unmoving boy (besides the shivers) when the towel was snatched before his eyes.

Francis, befuddled and also taking offence to such a rude gesture when he just wanted to assist, pulled a scowl and opened his mouth to scold him; clicking his mouth shut instead at the icy stare Alfred gave.

"I don't need you."

Shivers crawled up his spine and during the short while he managed to keep eye contact with the aggressive boy, he could pick up a strange, twisted look in his eyes, unhinged, terrifying like an animal ready to pounce after their well deserved prey.

Francis didn't feel dread for himself though, oddly enough.

END

That's it. Yea.

Yea.

Edit: Fml my dude I just wanna kms


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